You Feel Just Like the Sun
by brickroad16
Summary: Coda to season three. Speculation-heavy since the final two episodes haven't aired. Merlin and Morgana meet to unwind from the hectic events of the finale. M/M.


Disclaimer: I don't own _Merlin _or its characters.

A/N: This season has been more disappointment than excitement, and I've been particularly upset with the way the show has handled Morgana's turn. So, I'm holding out a little bit of hope still for the finale, but basically the only way this season can be redeemed in my eyes is if the writers were to pull something like this. If that happened, I would be utterly and completely devoted to them for life. However, I highly doubt that it will, which is why I've written it! :P

Set post-season three. I think you'll be able to figure out my version of what happens in the finale episodes. As always, let me know if you like it! But please don't favorite without leaving a review.

* * *

_You were the air in my breath, filling up my love-soaked lungs_  
_Such a beautiful mess, intertwined and overrun_  
_Nothing better than this, and then the storm can come_  
_You feel just like the sun_  
_Just like the sun_  
_- "The Light," Sara Bareilles_

* * *

"Morgana!"

His call rings out through the forest, dappled in the early morning light, and a grin spreads over her face at the sound of his voice.

"Merlin," she greets happily as he dismounts from his horse and strides over to wrap her in a tight embrace.

She laughs into his shoulder, letting the warmth of his closeness overwhelm her, because he feels so real to her now. Sliding a hand to her cheek, Merlin captures her lips in a kiss so sweet it nearly stops her heart.

"These past few days have felt like months without you," he mumbles, resting his forehead against hers.

Smiling softly, she threads her fingers through his hair. "You exaggerate, surely. I imagine there is much work to be done with all the rebuilding."

With a half-hearted shrug, he pulls her down to sit on the forest floor, their backs against a tree. He pulls her in, and she settles against his chest, liking the feel of his arms around her. She could stay here forever, just being held by him.

"It keeps me busy," he says quietly, "but I can't stop thinking about you."

"I bet Arthur likes that," she chuckles. "A distracted manservant."

He presses his cheek against her temple and confesses, "It's going to be hard without you."

"You'll still see me."

"Not often, not enough."

"And you got through an entire year without me."

"That was before," he begins, but trails off shyly.

"What?" she teases, turning in time to see a blush arise on his cheeks. "Before what?"

Frowning good-naturedly, he shakes his head and chuckles, "Before you knew of my affections."

"And I yours," she murmurs soothingly, placing a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth.

He sighs and she reclines against him again, closing her eyes in contentment. Only a little while ago, it had seemed too much as if the world were spinning out of control, as if the only thing she could do were tighten her grip and hang on for dear life. Now, though, now there is peace. The morning air is warm, the sun bright, the birds lively, and Morgana can think of no place she'd rather be.

All too soon, Merlin, his mind ever charging forward, breaks the silence. "It's not fair, you know. If they knew what you've done for Camelot, you wouldn't be banished. You would be a heroine to the people. You'd be sister to the king."

She places her hands over his arms and leans her head back against his collarbone. "Have you forgotten already all the good we have achieved?"

"No," he breathes.

Indeed, so much has changed, it's impossible to forget. Uther's tyranny is at an end; Arthur is set upon the throne, set upon the path of true glory; Gwen, dear Gwen, will be queen sooner rather than later. And Merlin? Merlin will be Arthur's right-hand, the secret strength behind the throne to guide and challenge, to help restore magic to its rightful place in Camelot.

"Good," she replies, "because there is much for which we should be grateful."

"And I _am_," he insists. "Believe me, I . . . am so relieved that I don't have to hide in the shadows anymore, that I don't have to always pretend to be the fool whenever I save Arthur's royal backside." His eyes darkening, he lifts a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. "But look at you. Look at all you have sacrificed for this kingdom. When can I tell them of what you have given up for them?"

Her eyes drift shut at his gentle touch, and she wonders idly if there will ever come a day when they no longer need to steal away to the forest for a moment alone. "You mean what _we_ have given up," she amends quietly.

And indeed, when she opens her eyes, she can see in his the hint of a future that can never be, a future they were never able to lay claim to. It's one in which they stand, united, behind their king and queen.

When he nods, she says, "The answer is not now, maybe not ever."

He gives a shake of his head, clearly frustrated by this. "They deserve to know."

She can tell by the look on his face that he's thinking of all the times he's never gotten recognition for his actions. It's never bothered him; he's never sought glory. But he can't bear the idea of her being thought a villainess when the reality is quite the opposite.

"The truth is," she sighs, "Arthur may never understand what I did, even if you explain it to him. All he knows is that I was the catalyst for the war in which his father died. For that alone, he may never forgive me."

"He will, I know he will."

He says it so earnestly that she has to smile at his optimism.

Thumbing his cheek gently, she says unconvincingly, "It is better like this."

"How can it be, when we are not together?" he asks, his voice breaking.

She leans forward to press her lips against his, astonished when she tastes the salt of tears, although whose, she cannot say. "Because every hero needs a villain."

He purses his lips. "How can you be so flippant?"

"Because it is the _truth_," she urges, cupping his face in her palm. "The important thing is that Arthur has learned that magic is neither good nor evil; it simply is. It is the wielder who chooses the intentions."

"And the magic who chooses the wielder," he finishes for her.

"Exactly right," she nods, somehow immensely saddened now that the words have been uttered.

He sighs heavily, rests his forehead against her temple. "So what happens now?"

She runs her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, relishing the softness against her hand. "You return to Camelot, to Arthur, to your destiny. And I return to Morgause, and mine, until I am needed again."

He picks his head up, an expression of dismay on his gaunt face. "And I am just to pretend that everything is all right? That missing you isn't breaking my heart?"

"You must carry on as before. We both must. For -"

"I know," he sighs. "For the future of Albion."

She nearly breaks from the sorrow in his eyes, because this is their inescapable fate - to always put Albion ahead of their hearts.

"Be patient, my love," she murmurs, though she's not certain she can take her own advice. "Be patient."

Merlin smiles forlornly at her, and when he kisses her, it feels like time stops just long enough for them to hold onto a splinter of happiness.


End file.
